


Before Tomorrow

by EmmG



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Modern AU, Solas the professor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmG/pseuds/EmmG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's the teacher and she's well... not exactly a student. Lavellan plays the violin at questionable venues and struggles to pay rent. Solas is the esteemed professor at an equally esteemed university. History means something infinitely different to both. She thinks she understands him until she doesn't; there are just too many layers to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I JUST CAN'T FUCKING STOP COMING UP WITH STORIES FOR THESE TWO OKAY. Never thought I'd be as into modern day au's as I am ugh

Dorian had insisted rather... _a lot_ for her to snatch up the position. It wasn't even in his field of expertise, but oh how insistent he was. Puppy eyes followed by threats followed by wine and finally she acquiesced.

Guest lecturer.

It didn't sound bad. Or at least too bad.

"Here you need it." Dorian waltzed into the kitchen, a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. He hissed a little as it burned his skin and stuck a finger in his mouth. "No forget it, I need it more. I have to deal with those imbeciles today."

"They're your students," she pointed out, a small smile tugging at her lips.

He shrugged. "Can't they be both?"

"Teacher of the year material."

"Indeed, sweetheart."

"You flatter me, buttercup."

She'd missed this - their morning ritual dating back to the time when he was still a teacher's assistant, slightly older and from a privileged background who shared a studio apartment with a Dalish hippie. They had been so broke back then it wasn't even funny. Now, he had his own wealth and his own place, and she was no longer a hippie but equally young and lost.

Lavellan stole a sip from Dorian's mug and he swatted her away like an annoying fly. "Get your own, elf."

"So salty, Dorian."

The university was a short ride from his home, but he insisted on taking the car. Be it in a display of fashion or laziness or both, she couldn't decide. Nor did particularly care. The cool breeze felt nice on her face as he rolled down all windows.

Stress had formed a hot stone in the pit of her stomach; she felt like throwing up all over Dorian's leather seats. But this was an opportunity to pay homage to her family, to her beliefs, and to perhaps clear a few clouded minds. Lavellan smiled, her eyes half-closed, as her finger traced the intricate vallaslin along her cheekbones. Mythal's mark, light and delicate.

Beside, Bull and Blackwall had barricaded the door to her apartment with their massive frames, stating in no unclear terms that she wouldn't be allowed back in until she delivered a satisfactory lecture.

The sight of the university tugged at her heart, but she swallowed the uneasiness.

"Come," Dorian said, already out of the car, his fancy driving glasses on top of his head and his scarlet scarf billowing in the wind. "I'll show you to the faculty lounge."

Lavellan expected to get stared at, but not like _this_. They did stare, but only at the handsome Professor Pavus who'd swung an arm around her shoulders as he led her across the campus, his voice a tad too loud as he complained about anything and everything. His parking spot was too far away, the autumn air did no good for his complexion - but underneath it all there was a softness which could only be born out of love.

"You've already talked to Dean Vivienne."

Oh, yes. She remembered the tall, slender woman who oozed elegance and called her darling at every turn. "I did. She was nice." Nice as in drowning her in sugary compliments. _Oh the university would benefit from your account, so just sign here and here and here... Of course we could have invited a scholar, but to hear from you!_ Lavellan shook her head. "She even prepared me."

"Good. Then you'll be ready to meet the others."

The door to the lounge swung open. It was an impressive sight. No windows so to say, but rather an entire wall made of glass. But before Lavellan had the time to dwell on the oddities of the clearly overpriced decor, someone was already addressing her.

"Maker take me! Dorian you could have at least told me she was beautiful. I might have shaved!"

Dorian brought a hand to his mouth, feigning shock. "Varric! You shave? And here I was thinking you were a miniature bear with a romantic heart."

Lavellan giggled. Then quickly tried to regain a semblance of professionalism, "I'm sorry. I am -"

"Yes, yes, we know who you are," the dwarf named Varric interjected. "To say that the students - that is, the History students - are excited to meet you is to say nothing at all. Hell, the hype even crossed into my field and I teach Creative Writing of all things!" He shrugged. "Must be the romance of it all."

Her smile died on her lips and she averted her eyes. Dorian was quick to deal damage repair.

"Wrong wording," he said quietly, a warm hand on her shoulder blades. "He meant no offense."

"Always making me feel better. What would I do without you?"

"Die, most probably."

"Oh Dorian, a man after my own heart."

"Only your heart?"

"If there's a secluded bathroom around here you can have more."

She was so used to those little quips with him that sometimes she forgot how utterly inappropriate it all sounded. But such was their relationship. She could straddle him in the middle of the mall and it would be perfectly fine. Just as he would grab her backside in a bar, all the while faking a deeper voice, to chase away an annoying drunk.

But too often they both forgot the time and place.

Varric cleared his throat, though it was easy to notice he was masking laughter. "So you two do this often?"

Lavellan sighed. "You have to excuse us. We've known each other a very long time."

By the malicious twinkle in his eyes, Dorian was about to add something particularly nasty but suddenly stopped, his gaze focused on a point behind Varric's back.

"Forget us, love, you will have to excuse that _asshole_ soon enough."

As if on cue, Varric spun on his heels. "Ah," he said before holding a long pause. "I take it you didn't warn her."

Her eyes went wide, but the two men seemingly forgot about her as they chatted in sudden, hushed whispers.

"I didn't think he'd be back so soon - "

"He's never gone for a long time - "

"But Vivienne wants everything to go smoothly - "

The person in question was a man. She hadn't noticed him before as until now his back had been to them. But now that he'd turned around, she could clearly see he was an elf. Lavellan could recognize the willowy figure and concealed strength of her people anywhere, in any crowd. He bore no vallaslin or marking of any sort - though that was no surprise as she herself was a rare exception - the only aspect betraying his heritage a lonely bone pendant around his neck. It was so out of context with his expensive clothing and polished air that she nearly overlooked it at first.

And he was walking toward them.

"Professor Solas," Dorian greeted the man with nonexistent enthusiasm. "It's actually a good thing you're here. There's someone you should meet."

" _Chuckles_ ," Varric jumped in, clearly more at ease with the stranger than her friend. "This is Lavellan. She'll be stealing your spotlight today."

She saw him cringe at the nickname, but otherwise say nothing of it. He was tall and she had to lift her chin ever so slightly to fully look him in the eyes. Uneasiness gnawed at her heart and she caught herself wringing her hands until her skin was red and raw.

But his eyes were not on her own. They were tracing the vallaslin, emotionless.

Then, so unexpectedly, he said but one thing, "Andaran atish’an."

His voice was cool, if it even made any sense. A lilt, though not quite, with a sharp edge to it.

The words were out before she could stop them. "Andaran atish’an, hahren."

If she'd wanted a reaction out of him, now was the time to celebrate. His eyes widened and his mouth pulled itself into a tight line. Solas nodded, as formal as ever. She bowed her head in return, but there was no way he saw that as he was already out of the lounge.

In all her years of dating or simply scaring men away with her odd nature, none had fled so quickly.

Dorian was shooting glances between the door that had just shut close and her baffled expression.

Finally, his voice broke the silence. " _What the fuck_ just happened?"

Varric jumped on the bandwagon. "Yeah, what he said."

Lavellan felt childish shame flood her body, claiming every vein, every parcel of her being. Even the tips of her ears went red and, in an utterly ridiculous gesture, she buried her face in her hands before murmuring, "I might have just called him an old man."

She hadn't said those words in such a long time and in that moment, as their language flowed between them like a sacred bond, she'd recalled her childhood, obeying her Keeper's every word and bestowing the title upon him. It was natural... and uncalled for. An unfortunate slip of the tongue that would make things so very awkward from now on.

Dorian's booming laughter made her cheeks flash brighter still, but even she couldn't stifle a giggle at the sight of tears in his eyes. He leaned against her, his nose brushing the crook of her neck.

"Oh, this is _beautiful_."

 

* * *

 

It seemed like she brought her own personal cheerleading squad to the lecture. It was an open event and the place could house up to a hundred guests. Though there was a desk and a chair to make her comfortable, Lavellan still felt like she was on stage. Students poured in, their incredulous eyes trained on her. Some offered shy smiles, others merely gawked.

Dorian was there too, still in his lab coat, having ran from one extreme of the university to the other in between classes. It was nice seeing him in his element. He planted a quick kiss to her forehead for luck and was off once more.

An unexpected voice curved her lips into a smile larger than life.

"Look at you, _Professor_ Lavellan."

Bull strode through the hall leading to the lecture room, nearly pushing students out of his way. He opened his arms to her and, hesitating only a second, she threw herself into his embrace.

"What are you doing here?" she laughed, bringing a fist to his chest.

"This is my Alma Mater, boss. Can come visit any time."

"Right. Political science. Almost forgot."

"Because obviously that degree did me so much good."

She laughed once again, the stress leaving her body. Lavellan cranked her neck to look at the tall man. "Leaving your post to visit me? How unprofessional."

He waggled one strong finger before her nose. "To encourage you. And Blackwall can hold the fort for an hour."

"You gave him the Netflix password," she guessed.

"Hell yeah I did."

The lecture room had filled up so quickly that by the time Bull released her she could feel stares like daggers in her back.

"I have to go," Lavellan whispered, clutching her old bag full of papers, prepared speeches, family relics and tarnished photographs she'd spent months acquiring. "You can come in, you know."

Bull shook his head. "Nah, but I will drive you home, boss. There's a nice coffee place just around the block. Text me when you're done."

She didn't notice she was still nodding her consent even after she walked into the room. A polite silence settled over the place as she began unpacking. From what she understood, this wasn't a purely academic event though it did offer additional credit. Something about prestige, as Vivienne had put it.

And simple curiosity.

Lavellan took a few careful steps toward the center of the room, cautious not to approach the first row too close.

"Well," she began, smiling and awkwardly playing with her long ashen hair, "I am not a professor. Also, I'm probably your age." Polite laughter rumbled all around her. "But that's not the point, is it? Everyone here knows the distinction between a primary and secondary source. You're in luck because as far as Dalish customs go, I am as primary as it gets."

The laughter grew and so did her confidence. Soon enough, she found herself settling in a comfortable pattern, even going as far as perching upon the desk and crossing her legs.

"As you must know - "

She was interrupted by the door opening. The thing was old and creaky and utterly impossible to ignore. She was about to make a funny remark about the latecomer when her eyes found the polished shoes, the elegant clothing, the impassive face - _oh god_.

This was an open lecture after all. He had every right to walk in. Every right, she kept reminding herself. But the nonchalance with which he strode in and took the single empty seat in the front row deeply unnerved her. The student next to him leaned toward her friend, as intimidated by his presence as Lavellan herself.

When the silence stretched out for too long, whispers arose.

And died out just as abruptly once he spoke.

"I hope I am not disturbing, _Professor_ Lavellan." The title, spoken in mockery, dripped from his tongue like acid.

Her fingers increased their petting of her hair. "I... well, I think we've already established that I am anything but." The second time around, the joke didn't earn a cheerful reception. "You are welcome to stay of course, Professor Solas."

If she focused on the wall, she could pretend he wasn't there.

And it worked.

Soon, she regained her enthusiasm. Lavellan was afraid of the deep sadness that had so often paralyzed her over the years, but instead acceptance spread warmth through her blood. She spoke fondly of her clan, bringing up old news articles and the mementos she brought along.

So little Dalish left in the world. The thought was saddening. And she... a sole survivor.

When she got to the part about the massacre, her voice was nothing more than a murmur. "I recall little of _that_ , to be completely honest. If we must get into the details, then I will tell you that there was blood and by the time I was pulled away I was nothing more than a sobbing mess. We live a quiet life, for sure, and our traditions might seems perhaps... quite intense, to an outsider, but the sense of family is the most important thing. Yes, we gather knowledge, yes we prefer the open sky and stars to modern comfort, but one is never alone."

A blonde girl raised her hand, but didn't even wait for the authorization to speak. She had an air of defiance about her, but otherwise seemed completely harmless if not for her poisoned tongue. "You never gave interviews. Why talk about this now?"

Lavellan shrugged. "Why sell a tragedy? _My_ tragedy. I am finally at peace with the events. I don't want to sell a story - I want to tell it. If it brings others closer to understanding my people, good. There are barely any of us left, we are a rarity of sorts. If not, then I tried."

"You wear the vallaslin."

Her head snapped toward his voice. He hadn't spoken a word to her since he came in. Now he sat, his chin propped on his fist as he all but stared her down.

She shifted from foot to foot. "I do."

"It is Mythal's," he continued.

Her answers were still clipped but a certain tension lifted itself from her shoulders. Was he participating in the lecture? "Yes, it is."

Solas cleared his throat before cutting through the air with his hand, a gesture of annoyance. "You honor gods that may have not been gods at all and turn your belief into something so very akin to fanaticism. Tell me, why do your people insist on hording knowledge? On defacing themselves and rejecting the world?"

The affirmations, so much more graceful than any insult and thus infinitely deadlier, set something loose within her that she thought long buried. Old pain resurfaced and gripped her throat. It was all she could do not to bring her hand to her chest, clench and unclench a fist as she so often did years back. She looked at him with panicked eyes, the esteemed scholar and respected figure who'd just dragged her through the mud.

"It... isn't hoarding," her voice sounded so weak, so pathetic. "It's preserving. Protecting."

"Just as one might say when caging a bird. It will be safe behind bars but ultimately die. Knowledge isn't meant to be hidden. And yet your people raise walls." His voice was louder now. "Might I add, quite literal walls. Elven culture is mostly lost as it is, but if a discovery comes along you claim it as yours. Then you store it away to gather dust and our correct, polite society bows down to your beliefs. In the meantime, history slips away."

There was a burning blush on her cheeks, but not from being openly disrespected. The anger she felt was so potent it was nearly physical - she could reach out and touch it.

Lavellan took a step and then another until she stood so very close to him, her thighs pressed into the desk between them.

"Maybe, just maybe," and her voice was little more than a hiss, "it's because we are the only ones left who truly care."

He looked taken aback by her sudden display of fierceness and said nothing. Oh, but his eyes did speak however. For the first time, she noticed how much older he was and felt insubstantial once more, a silly little girl defined by a personal tragedy who played the violin at less than prestigious venues and ate cereal for lunch.

The clock informed her that two hours had passed. Students were restless in their seats, eager to run to their next class but too enthralled in the drama before them to move.

"Thank you for your attention," Lavellan spoke to the class. "It was an honor to share my traditions with you."

Murmurs, footsteps, giggles, speculations. She closed her eyes and exhaled before walking back to the desk to gather her belongings. She felt shaken and sad. As a Dalish, she'd always been faced with curiosity and reproach - but never something so direct. Disdain had poured out of him until she felt like she was suffocating in his hatred.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"Ir abelas."

From the corner of her eye, she could see him, standing tall a few feet away from her. The classroom was deserted, but his presence felt smothering. Lavellan flinched, taking perhaps a bit too long to consider whether to face him or not.

He spoke the language, something even elves didn't pursue nowadays. It had been lost centuries ago, but there were those for whom it still mattered. Why such hatred then, she wondered as she scanned his dispassionate face.

"You don't get to be sorry," she said through her teeth. "You made it abundantly clear what you thought of me - of my people."

Solas paused. Nodded. Conceded to her point. If it was meant to make her feel better, it didn't work. Lavellan wanted nothing more than to storm out.

"But I still am," he pressed on. "You care when barely anyone else does. Ir abelas, da'len."

Her mouth moved, shaping the familiar _hahren_ , but she caught herself before it could fly out. Bit her lip. His eyes followed and she looked away.

She counted his steps in her mind as he left.

Then breathed.

Now, where was Bull. Coffee wouldn't do. She needed something stronger.


	2. Chapter 2

Before leaving to find Bull, Lavellan stopped by the faculty lounge to say goodbye to Dorian. He was already pacing like a restless animal when she opened the door.

"I already know," he said venomously.

"Calm down," Varric slurred from a nearby chair, his hand over his eyes.

"That was unprofessional," Dorian ranted on. "Plain out rude. I'm bringing it to Vivienne's attention. He can't get away with this. We've put up with his self-entitled, worthier-than-thou shit for too long."

"He's got tenure. You don't. He's an acclaimed writer and researcher. You're fresher than spring. Shut your mouth and sit your ass down. Nothing you can do."

"Don't you ever work, Varric?" her friend snapped.

Lavellan sighed. Rubbed her tired eyes. She shifted from foot to foot, holding onto the door frame.

"Whatever," she said, shrugging. "Not the first time and certainly not the last. Let it go, Dorian. I'm fine. Anyway, he apologized."

Dorian froze, his neck snapping in her direction. Finally, he scoffed. "Cute."

And that was the end of it as he ran out yet again, late for another lecture.

* * *

Lavellan took out her violin out of its worn case, letting her fingers skim over the old wood. The neck had Dalish runes craved along the length and if she positioned her hand just so, she could feel them as she played. An ancient thing with character that she favored over its modern counterparts. Blackwall, with his strong rough hands, had restored it many times over the years but time had taken its toll on the instrument. She could feel it fall a little more apart each day.

Well. Lavellan pushed the thought into the dark corner of her mind, where she locked anything and everything unpleasant, and flexed her fingers, willing the cold to relinquish her joints.

She had just begun a light melody to warm up when a familiar, slightly shy, voice cut through her concentration.

Lavellan smiled and twirled on her heels, still playing. Cullen stood before the small stage, a steaming mug of tea between his gloved hands. He smiled again, that lopsided awkward grin that never failed to twist her insides into a tight knot.

"Fancy seeing you here," she told him , taking a few steps forward without actually dismounting from the stage.

He held out the mug as though a peace offering, but quickly thought twice of it. "I brought you tea. I was thinking - never mind what I was thinking. So much for my good deed of the day, I suppose."

Lavellan laughed, raising her voice over the melody her fingers and hands coaxed out of the violin. He was nice, for lack of a better word, so incredibly _nice_. And she felt awkward in his presence, almost like a giddy teenager. As a Templar, someone with an actual job and calling, he stood out among the regulars of the quiet cafe. She wanted to touch his uniformed chest and ask what every emblem he wore represented and what, in the name of everything sacred, was he thinking coming to see her?

Not that she minded. Oh, how she did not mind in fact.

"Thanks," she said, finishing the tune. "Just in time. Don't even need to reheat it."

The violin returned to its case and Lavellan accepted the mug. They stood in front of each other in comfortable silence until she finally hoped down from the stage. _Now_ , he was the tall one. Lavellan smirked.

"I probably should go." Cullen glanced at his watch, just like her precious violin it was old and with a scratched surface but obviously loved. "Duty calls and all of that."

"Got to be nice to have a real job," she replied, grinning behind her mug. "See you tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid you just might."

She watched the Templar walk out of the cafe, pulling up the collar of his coat just before facing the harsh weather, and sighed.

So much tiptoeing around.

Her cell phone vibrated in the back pocket of her jeans. Lavellan lazily reached for it, only half-caring whether she missed the call or not. The number appearing on the display was an unknown one and she frowned. It was too early for Dorian to be passed out drunk somewhere and for a stranger to call her.

"Hello?" she answered, taking a long sip of the mint tea. It burned her mouth, but also left a cooling feeling afterward.

"Yes, Ms. Lavellan, hello," the tiny voice hurriedly whispered. "I apologize, yes, this must be odd for you, you don't know me... I am just calling to ask if you would be open to the idea of a collaboration?"

_An idea of what?_

The puzzlement flowed into her voice. "I'm sorry but what?"

Again, the voice murmured something too quickly for her to decipher. She thought she heard a couple of apologies and it nearly made her feel bad. She willed herself to remain silent before this became an I'm-sorry-fest on both ends.

"I'm not explaining myself very well. I'm calling on behalf of Solas, I mean Professor - "

Lavellan choked on her tea. She had to take a minute, peeling the phone away from her cheek, to clear her airways before jumping back into the conversation with renewed ardor.

" _Solas?_ " she repeated. The name felt alien on her tongue; like ash, like it didn't belong. "What does _he_ want with me?" As far as she was concerned, his apology hadn't been even half-hearted, born out of necessity alone. All for the sake of appearance and prestige.

"Oh, he'll pay you and everything," the fidgety voice resumed, disregarding her momentary dazed state. "Of course he will. It's for writing. He writes books, you know. He wants your account, I think. Your," an exhale as he searched for the next word, " _expertise_."

Lavellan rarely let herself go so completely. She threw away responsibility left and right, but those were small things. Not doing the dishes, paying the phone bill a day or two late. But now as she stood listening to the nervous voice on the other end of the line, she was acutely aware of just how empty her pockets were. She recalled her own thoughts from just a few days ago - at this point anything would do.

For years she'd refused to talk of her clan, refused to bring up the massacre and sell herself to the media. The University's deal had been different. Perhaps this would be too.

"All right," she said simply. "How can I help?"

* * *

It was already dark outside when she got out of the bus. Mercifully, the stop was but a few short strides from the university and students surrounded her. Most hurried back home, but a few unlucky souls dragged their feet alongside her. She felt their pain. Back when she actually cared about finishing a job-worthy degree, evening classes had been a special type of pain.

It was odd. Blending in and yet not.

Lavellan pulled on the zipper of her jacket and brought it as close to her throat as possible. The wind was picking up. For a second, she thought of Cullen and his beautiful uniform, his simple yet elegant long coat and how warm it would feel around her, and blushed.

Dorian wasn't around this time to guide her. She vaguely remembered the way to the faculty lounge, but the boy - she lacked a better word to describe the person who'd called her - had given her directions to Solas' office. And from what she could tell, it was on the very top floor. Wonderful.

When she finally made it up, Lavellan took a moment to breathe. She still hadn't made her mind as to whether she wanted this thing to go on, but so far if it included her braving so many flights of stairs every single time, she was strongly inclined to never returning. The top floor wasn't as loud as the main hall, which made sense, but it was still surprisingly quiet for a university. She walked the hallway, dragging her fingers along the wall, until her eyes landed on the gilded plate with _his_ name.

Softly, her knuckles met three times with the dark wood of the door.

It opened almost too quickly. Her hair even flew back a little, and Lavellan realized how disheveled she probably appeared. Smoothing her ashen mane with her cold palms, she smiled at the tall boy who stood guard in the doorway.

"Ms. Lavellan!" he exclaimed.

She recognized the nervous intonation straight away. "Hi. You called me, I think?"

"Yes, yes." He moved very fast, ushering her inside and tugging at her coat before she had the time to unzip it. Once in his arms, he threw it over a rack and wrung his hands together. "I am Cole. And you are wary. Don't be. There are papers for you to sign. I left them on the table, yes, the table. It's all right, you don't have to do it right now. I must go, but please sign them eventually."

His words rushed out one after the other, not quite sentences, not quite completing each other, and all the while his pale eyes jumped up and down her frame. Cole muttered something under his breath and walked right past her without a goodbye. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Do not be upset with him," Solas' calm voice cut through her mind's confusion. "He means well."

Lavellan blinked a few times. Finally, she noticed the lavish room, the abstract paintings hanging on the walls, and in the middle of it all a massive mahogany desk behind which Solas sat. The place bled with subtle opulence. He cleared his throat and took off his reading glasses.

She took a few calculated steps, unsure whether to drop into the chair before him or remain upright.

"No, no, of course," she said softly. "He's very sweet."

Solas stood and she was infinitely glad to have chosen to stay still. A game of musical chairs would have been utterly inappropriate. Lavellan watched him as he readjusted his tie, which had obviously been tugged on a few times prior to her arrival. It was odd to catch him like this, his sleeves rolled up and with only his vest, tired and perhaps too at ease, and she couldn't help but smile as he hurried to put on the previously discarded jacket.

He wasn't looking at her when he spoke. "Thank you for coming. It was very gracious of you. I didn't treat you kindly when we first met."

Was he going to shake her hand? Offer her something to drink? Lavellan felt tempted to shuffle through the papers on his desk to find the ones Cole mentioned if only to break the heavy awkwardness of it all.

"Well, I think something was said about me getting paid so it makes up for it."

Her joke didn't lighten the mood. If anything, he froze even more. She didn't expect a loud guffaw or for him to double over laughing, but even a grimace would have been nice at this point. Forgetting her previous resolve, Lavellan sat down, her chin traveling up to keep up with his tall frame.

"That was a jest," she felt the need to clarify.

"Yes, I understood."

She sighed. "Can I help you? That's why I'm here, no?"

"May." His voice was so quiet it might have been a gust of air.

Lavellan shook her head. " _What?_ "

"Old habits. It is nothing," Solas said, finally breaking out of his stupor.

He closed the distance between them in two long strides and offered her his hand. Lavellan grasped it with perhaps a bit too much eagerness, but her smile faded the instant she noticed his eyes going over her vallaslin. At first, she ignored it, but his gaze was intense in its concentration and eventually she tore her hand away. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she used the gesture to conceal her face from him.

"My vallaslin bothers you," she stated.

"Ir abelas," he replied automatically, as if on cue, and made way to return to his desk. "I didn't mean to upset you. I appreciate you coming to see me tonight."

"What exactly do you need me for?" Lavellan asked. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the opportunity. It's just very... unexpected."

Solas opened his laptop. For the longest time, he said nothing and simply let his fingers dance on the keys. The silence was oppressing. Lavellan found herself wistfully gazing at the window. Then, thought better of it. This was something good, something that could actually be considered a respectable career opportunity. She let him play his game.

When he looked at her again, he only said, "Tell me of your childhood, if you please."

"My childhood?"

An elegant flick of his wrist. Gesture of annoyance? "Growing up Dalish. I would like to hear about it."

The irony was such, she had to swallow a nasty remark. Lavellan let her eyes run along the leathery spines of the books she could see. They were everywhere; his office was very nearly a library in its own right if not for the slight artistic touch. All history and all elven.

Lavellan ran a hand through her hair, leaning back in the comfortable chair. "It's what you'd expect it to be. Very secluded and traditional. I hear some years ago, my clan was still moving from one place to another - especially right before winter - but they never did it in my time. We had our hunters, our healers, and even a Halla keeper." She laughed, briefly closing his eyes in delight. "They thought I'd make a good healer, you know. I spent a lot of time in the forest..."

She told him everything, the words flowing out so very easily. It felt good to share after years of repressing the truth. How she and her friend hid in the woods to observe an older girl as she got her vallaslin. How people from the city stared whenever they saw them. How their Keeper, despite being wholly devoted to the clan and their culture, would always tell the children they were free to pursue whatever path they wished.

"Forgive me if I come across as insensitive," Solas said after she'd gone quiet. "But I must ask. The... tragedy which befell your clan, it happened while you were still young. Correct? You were raised in the city. Why - how did you get your vallaslin?"

Apparently, it always came back to that. Lavellan suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

"These days it's almost a fashion statement. Easy to get pretty much anywhere. As to the why, isn't it obvious? To honor my traditions."

"Admirable," he said under his breath, focusing on typing anew. His jaw was set tight.

She squinted at him. "You don't mean that."

No reply. Just the rhythmic tapping of the keys.

Eventually, he reached inside his jacket to pull out what looked like a very expensive pen. She watched him as he handed it to her together with a pile of documents.

"I am writing a book about forgotten customs," he said, not looking at her. "The Dalish traditions are very important. I would like for you to be an official consultant. My publisher will contact you with details regarding the loyalties and Cole shall arrange fair payment, but in the meantime I must insist that you sign this confidentiality agreement."

Lavellan carefully took the pen from him. It was heavy and caught the light. She weighed it in the palm of her hand while he gave her a perplexed look. The thing probably cost more than her rent. For a minute, she considered reading every single page to at least appear professional, but gave up and quickly initialed everything.

He was still looking at her when she handed him back the pile. There were crinkles by his eyes. He looked so _tired_. The wolf bone pendant swayed between them as he leaned forward to grasp the papers. It looked old, yet sharp.

"Would you be available tomorrow at the same time?"

"I... yes," Lavellan stuttered.

Solas nodded. "Grand," he said and freed his glasses from their case.

She waited for a follow up, but it never came. He gave her one more small nod when he caught her staring, and she finally understood it was her cue to leave.

Awkwardly, Lavellan trotted out of his office and away from its oppressive atmosphere. The door closed behind her, she inhaled deeply and added a new alarm to her phone titled Meeting With Solas.


	3. Chapter 3

Solas' publisher was a tall, intimidating woman by the name of Cassandra Pentaghast. She insisted right off the bat that she was no writer herself, literature was far from her forte, and history at the very bottom of her list of interests. However, she also conceded, Solas' project deserved every ounce of respect and she was behind it one hundred percent.

Lavellan smiled. A tad more at ease, she craned her neck, letting the joints satisfyingly crack. She felt terribly out of place among all the suits walking the hallways. So did Cassandra, as a matter of fact, but the woman held her head high unlike her. Alike but not quite, they were.

"If you don't mind me asking," Lavellan said, shifting in her seat, "since history isn't your primary interest, why pour all your efforts into it?"

Cassandra sighed. For a moment, her features softened before she donned the professional mask once more. "Truthfully, I'd love to start a romance line. But don't tell that to Solas. Now, would you like to take these copies to your lawyer or are you satisfied with the terms?"

Lavellan bit back a laugh, but air still rushed through her teeth. "Me, having a lawyer? Nice of you to think that." With the quip out, she initialed the heap of documents, her eyes only lightly skimming over the endless words.

"Good," Cassandra said. "I presume Solas' assistant already discussed your contract with you?"

"His assistant?"

"The boy he insists on dragging around," Cassandra muttered under her breath. "Cole. Interesting character."

"Ah, yes. If storming off after saying hello counts then he most certainly did." Lavellan rolled her eyes, a gentle smile perched on her lips. "Sweet boy."

"In any case," Cassandra continued, her back to Lavellan and hands clasped, "you should probably ask Solas to go over it with you. He can be a pain, but he most definitely has a better way with words."

Considering the first time he barged into the lecture room to insult her in front of at least a hundred curious eyes and during the second forgot what it was to communicate and merely stared at her blood writing, Lavellan seriously doubted it. Still she nodded, folding the file Cassandra gave her so it would fit inside her purse.

How he managed to have nice people surrounding him astonished Lavellan to no end.

* * *

She arrived deliberately early to their second meeting. Cole let her in and sat staring at the window for the longest time before vanishing, allowing her free roam of the office. Lavellan threw a cautious glance at the massive wooden door before springing to her feet. His desk's contents intrigued her. This time, small artifacts from their common past sat behind glass casings. A chipped stone with a glyph engraved into it, torn leather with old writings, a tiny piece from something that may have been a vase. Her fingers hovered over the findings, never quite coming in contact.

It was all history, literature and knowledge. Nothing betrayed his privacy. No framed picture of a loved one or something as benign as a half-empty mug. She'd wanted to stop by a coffee shop to get him a drink as a gesture of good will, but left the line right before getting to the register. Had it been anyone else, she wouldn't have hesitated. But Solas was peculiar. It would have hurt if he'd sneered at her offering. What if he didn't drink coffee with three milks but two? What if he detested sugar? So many pointless questions.

The door opened right when she was examining the glyph. Lavellan startled. She saw him lift his eyes from the book he was carrying and glare at her. Slowly, he closed the door behind him, still not saying a word.

"I wasn't going through your stuff," Lavellan blurted out, feeling a cold sweat on the back of her neck.

"I didn't assume you were," he replied, walking over to her.

It felt strange, standing this close to him. His shoulder nearly brushed hers when he leaned over to get the artifact. He lifted it into the light and her eyes followed, travelling over his long elegant fingers as they caressed the glass surface behind which the object hid.

"It is said that glyphs such as these were once used - "

"For magic," Lavellan interrupted. "I believe this particular one represented fire."

Solas was silent for a very long time. Long enough for her to actually blush. She felt it spread to the tips of her ears as she muttered a few hurried apologies.

But all he said was, "Very good," and as he did something lifted from his features. The tension, the intensity, he carried around whenever in her presence crawled away. The change was disconcerting but also welcome. Lavellan watched him nod his approval. He returned the artifact to his desk and undid a button on his jacket before settling into his plush chair.

They talked of her childhood, but this time the exchange wasn't one-sided. His contributions didn't drip venom, but were laced with real curiosity.

"I'm sorry," Lavellan said, looking past him and at the window where the sun had long set. She hated the cold season for that. "I really don't have much offer. All I have are childish memories."

"Your memories are worth their weight in gold, da'len," he answered.

She tried not to make too much of the word, tried to hide her reaction, but the corners of her lips lifted ever so slightly. Perhaps he didn't hate her.

"What of your memories?" Lavellan turned the question around.

His shoulder rose and fell in a gesture of indifference. His laptop's screen had gone dark, his fingers were intertwined together. He hadn't typed anything in a long while.

"Believe me, that well has long run dry," Solas said, his voice the perfect depiction of neutrality. "Did you study history?"

This was new territory. She would have accepted his careful interrogation as an invitation to open up - had circumstances been entirely different. Lavellan treaded just as warily as he ever did, weighing the information she relinquished. With him, anything could be used as arsenal.

"I did."

"What happened?" He leaned back into his chair, his stance losing some of its intimidation.

"I chose not to pursue it," Lavellan simply said.

Solas looked past her when he spoke next. "Yes, well, I suppose playing the violin is a much better alternative."

She clutched the case which held her instrument. She'd come right after practice, bringing it along, and now was feeling irrationally defensive.

"Care to rephrase that?" Her tone was thick with anger, but so far contained.

She stared him down until he sighed and met her eyes.

"I meant no offense. I actually quite admire anyone who chooses to go down the artistic path."

"You play or something like that?"

"Or something like that. Now, please continue."

* * *

Dorian didn't understand. Then again, neither did she. Her arrangement with Solas only made sense on paper. In reality, she couldn't wrap her head around why he would want to associate himself with someone like her.

Weeks passed and her bank account didn't cry anymore every time she checked it.

All was good. Relatively.

Dorian would drive her to the university on his nights off, all the while scolding her.

"Now remember," he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders after parking. "If he comes onto you - actually, if he does please film it."

Lavellan chuckled, an ugly little sound she never cared to conceal in Dorian's company. "You're such an idiot."

Dorian followed her out of the car. Exaggerating every gesture, he made as if to rearrange invisible glasses which were sliding down the bridge of his nose. Coughing once and clasping his hands behind his back, he towered over her, his head cocked to one side.

"What is it that you elves say - oh yes, lethallan. Well, lethallan, I think we should probably hook up. For science, of course. Let me turn off the lights because I'm afraid my pale ass might blind you."

She giggled, ignoring his terrible accent, and fanned herself. Her hands now pressed to Dorian's chest, she retaliated, "Oh, Professor Solas! Take me on top of your desk for the sake of science!"

"Let's make some history, baby."

Dorian deliberately wiggled his eyebrows and she lost it, beating one fist against his shoulder.

"You're horrible," Lavellan whispered. "He's not that bad, really."

"Whatever you say, love. Remember, I'm rushing through the papers I have to grade so you hurry home too. We're going out drinking."

"I'll call you when I'm done," she said, planting a quick peck on his cheek.

To her utter horror, once Dorian left and she turned around to head toward the main building, she saw Cole standing perfectly still, his expressionless eyes trained on her. He left before she could catch up to him and Lavellan had to stop to calm down her racing heart. Hiding her face in her hands, she felt embarrassment bloom on her cheeks and rush through her blood.

The trek to Solas' office elevated her anxiety to new levels. She seriously considered running away, but in the end swallowed her pride and knocked on the door. Cole opened it, as impassive as ever, and for a second she thought he'd heard nothing at all.

But then he said, "I didn't know you wanted - "

Well, that hope didn't last long.

"Shh!" Lavellan snapped, dragging him inside. Her hand itched to barricade his mouth from any further remarks. "It was a joke, Cole. Nothing more. You don't need to repeat anything to him."

"Repeat what?"

Solas' calm voice made her wince. She felt his breath ruffle the hair on top of her head, so close he was. Her eyes sought out Cole but the young man was already speaking.

Dread made her nauseous. She gripped the door frame for support.

"That she wants you to take her on your desk," Cole murmured, detached, the words sounding so very banal coming from him. "It's time for me to go."

From the corner of her eye, Lavellan saw color drain from Solas' face. His fingers twitched nervously as he tugged at his collar. She wasn't sure, but she thought a slight blush had spread along his cheekbones before he strode past her and into his office.

In her mind, she stumbled over every possible sentence which would smooth this mess over. However, ultimately, Lavellan could but mumble, "It was a... misunderstanding." The tips of her ears were now positively red.

He was wearing a scarf, she noticed as the silence stretched out, and was taking a ridiculously long time to peel it away from around his throat.

"I'm certain," he said at last. "I'm sorry I'm late. My students had more questions for me than usual," Solas added as an afterthought, seemingly eager to cover Cole's slip of the tongue with useless chitchat.

Something was amiss, or rather out of context. Lavellan focused her attention on his voice, catching a little after every word. His breath hitched in his throat. His chest rose and feel quicker than usual.

_Had he ran here?_

The notion was so alien that she couldn't muffle a laugh. Solas raised an eyebrow at her, but Lavellan only shook her head.

"I enjoy working with you, you know," she said softly. "I know you dislike the Dalish, but you have very interesting opinions. Most people dismiss us as lunatics stuck in the past, but you take our ideals into consideration despite disagreeing with most of them."

Undeterred by lack of evidence, she was sure some of his defenses fell away.

"Give yourself some credit, da'len," he whispered. "It's a pleasure to collaborate with you as well. Now, shall we resume?"

* * *

The bar was a shady little place with music that resembled nails on a chalkboard. Even so, Lavellan threw her head back in laughter after downing yet another shot. She had nowhere to be tomorrow. Solas was out of town for some conference and her gig got cancelled. Might as well get drunk.

Next to her, Blackwall was arguing with Varric who Dorian had convinced to join them. Their banter was good-natured and she enjoyed listening to their voices.

"Oh yeah, almost forgot," Varric said, his tongue fighting for coherence. He pushed an envelope toward her. "You have to come."

"What the hell is this?" Lavellan slurred. "Looks fancy."

"It is fancy," Dorian jumped in. "That, my dear, is an invitation to Varric's soiree."

Varric chuckled. "Put like that you make it sound so elegant. Think of it as a get-together with lots of booze."

Lavellan winked at him. "Expensive booze, I hope."

"Only the best. I'm inviting the entire faculty."

At that, Dorian let out a loud sound. Something between a cry and a choke, earning him a few incredulous looks. He scratched his jaw, snickering to himself until Lavellan elbowed him in the ribs.

"I'm ready to bet a twenty," he began whispering, his tone so low as though they were all part of some conspiracy, "that our dear Professor Solas will skulk in a corner and be the first to leave."

"Leave him alone," Lavellan groaned. "He's really not that bad. How many times must I tell you?"

Varric shrugged. "Actually, I dare you to play a game of cards with him. The man is silent as the grave, but get him winning and he'll start trash talking you in that eloquent way of his. Really entertaining, I have to say."

 _"Oh how thou suck,"_ Lavellan recited, giggling at her own inebriated wit.

Blackwall took a swig of his beer before wiping the foam from his mustache with the back of his hand. "Who's this Solas person, now?"

Dorian, drunk enough at this point not to care about the volume of his voice, loudly announced, "Lavellan's friend with benefits."

"Yes," she nodded eagerly. "We make sweet love while he quizzes me about Dalish customs. Oh, and pays me afterward."

"The stuff of romance," Blackwall declared.

As the only relatively sober member of their party, he left to call a few cabs despite them all whining about wanting to stay longer. Varric waved around a wad of bills, but he brushed him off and paid the drivers before any of them could protest any further. Lavellan and Dorian alike were slumped against him by the time they got to her apartment, her little place being the closest to the bar. Blackwall locked the door with his spare key and left them to their own devices. He still had Varric to get home.

Dorian muttered something about comfort and crashed on her bed. She joined him.

The invitation pleasantly burned in her pocket as she fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

_-5:30 pm_

_Tell him I'll be a little late!!! Bus is not here yet! Thx!_

_-Solas, work cell 5:32 pm_

_Wrong number._

She frowned at her cell phone. Her fingers were already frozen from being away from her gloves for too long, but now this - whatever it was - was happening. She'd texted Cole before, it's not like they were breaking new ground here. He was the one handling Solas' work phone after all, and she'd never asked for the extension to his office.

_-5:33 pm_

_Umm Cole?_

After a few short minutes, the display lit up again but this time with an incoming call. She slide the icon to the right and pressed the phone to her cheek, keeping it in place with her shoulder. Her hands could warm up for a bit while she talked.

"Did you delete my number or something?" Lavellan laughed, throwing cautious glances into the street should her runaway bus finally show up.

"Next time feel free to call right away, lethallan."

All wind was knocked out of her for a short instant. His voice was as passive as ever if not for a subtle edge of reprimand. Solas never spoke to her for a moment too long, much less called her. This was a development if she'd ever seen one. Lavellan could imagine him, reclined in his plush chair, pinching the bridge of his nose or rubbing his eyes as he did when he thought she wasn't looking.

"I usually just text Cole. It's quicker," she replied on a breathy giggle. "What are you doing with his phone? Why the hell doesn't he have me in his contact list?"

"One, it is _my_ phone. But I understand how otherworldly the notion that I should use it appears. Two, I don't know. He just has a good memory, I suppose. Finally, how late?"

She wasn't sure whether that was a joke or not. Just to be on the safe side, Lavellan said, "Ha. Touché." Then after a moment of biting on her lip, "Not too much. Ten, fifteen minutes. I just figured you were" - uptight - "keen on punctuality."

"Fifteen minutes, you say."

"Yes...? Look I'm sorry. I know you're busy. If you want to reschedule I understand."

"No," Solas dismissed her. "Let yourself in if I'm not back by the time you arrive."

"All right. Bye...?"

She wondered why their conversations always left her confused - and also why Creators her tone rose to an almost-squeal as if she was constantly questioning everything ever.

Shaking her head, she changed the entry to simply Solas. Somehow, this short exchange added humanity to his stoic countenance. She imagined him frowning, maybe even cursing under his breath, when typing the passive-aggressive 'wrong number.' The thought entertained her during the ride to the university.

Lavellan jumped out of the bus the moment it stopped. Her boots gathered snow as she dragged her feet to the main entrance. She really did need to go shopping for warmer clothes. Maybe she would take Dorian up on his offer once he was done with grading. This time of the year turned him into a whiny hermit.

Out of habit, Lavellan knocked on his door when arriving despite the inside being dark. Rolling her eyes and remembering, she pushed it open and flipped the three switched on the wall, allowing light to rush over the office.

Was there enough time to snoop around, Lavellan mused, only half-considering the thought.

"Hold it for me, if you please."

Solas popped up behind her, his steps so quiet she nearly bolted out of her skin. But then again, he always did it. He was carrying two large to-go cups from the coffee shop across the street. Steam rose around his face and tickled at his skin, making him wince every so often. He'd pulled up the collar on his long black coat, now speckled with fresh snow, and his glasses had slid to the very tip of his nose. Solas angled his head so they wouldn't fall and made for his desk.

Lavellan closed the door behind him.

"Want to hand that to me?" She'd already taken off her coat and was waiting to hang it up. Seeing him shrug his own off made her reach out in polite concern.

He gave her a curious look before gesturing to his desk. "I... of course. How do you take it? I'm afraid I only grabbed so many sugars."

She smiled. "I meant your coat, hahren."

His gaze dropped hers as he draped it over his chair. "It's quite all right, thank you."

"So you got me coffee?" Lavellan wondered out loud, unabashedly staring at the cup. A large one nonetheless, but that she wouldn't mention.

"I've had a very long day and you look frozen to the bone. I would say we deserve it."

"What's up with the phone?"

He leaned back, one hand cradling his chin. "Well, it's my phone, as previously stated, and sometimes I use it. Intriguing, I know. But while we're sharing curiosities, I see your preferred term of endearment has resurfaced."

The cold left her cheeks flushed. Lavellan rubbed them with her knuckles while settling in. Before she reconsidered, her boots flew off and she was pulling her legs underneath herself. An awkward position to be sure, but this way her limbs benefited from warmth. If her sudden display of familiarity unnerved him, Solas did not comment upon it.

There were four packets of sugar on the table. He'd already stolen two and was wistfully eying the remaining ones. Swallowing a laugh, she pushed them toward him. He bowed his head in silent thanks and she took it as her opening.

"Term of endearment? Oh no. More like respect. Did you take offense when I first used it?"

His eyes traveled to the ceiling, pensive. "You startled me. I offered a standard greeting and in return got called an elder. Correct me if I'm wrong, but even among the Dalish one does not address just anyone in this fashion."

Lavellan chuckled. The coffee was really quite good, burning against her lips. A bit too bitter, but she didn't mind. She could barely taste it.

"You sound like a hahren," is all she said.

His mouth twitched but did not curl upward. "How so?"

She shrugged, disregarding the question and countering with one of her own. Circling around could go both ways. "Did you not call me your da'len not too long ago? The very first day we met, if I remember correctly."

"Ah, but I am older. Besides, the word in question is sufficiently vague as not to be restricted to a single meaning."

A part of her itched to squeeze as much out of him as he was willing to spare. He was unusually relaxed, answering her inquiries rather than firing work-related orders. This was a rare opportunity but a stranger picture still, him sipping his too-sweet drink, indulging her wit and bringing his own out to play. As much as he was abrupt and dry in his way of speaking, when he got into it Solas could come across as quite entertaining. Lively, she supposed was a better term; he was far from the life of the party.

Despite the facade, he was not humble.

Just how much older, Lavellan wanted to ask. Her mouth parted, but then immediately closed. If curiosity proved too hard to ignore later on, she could always stalk him on the internet. He arched an eyebrow at her silence, turning his attention to his laptop.

"In any case, it's time to cut this interlude short," Solas concluded.

*   *   *

Varric's invitation came with a plus one option.

Lavellan went over her contact list a few times, wishing she'd asked Cullen for his number but knowing that even if she'd had it her utter awkwardness would have prevented her from making a move.

So began the quest for a date. Sure she was all kinds of late, having put off the matter again and again, but this was her last chance.

The first victim was Blackwall.

"What's the dress code?" was the question in which he poured all his passion. "Black tie optional, I hope?"

"More like demanded. You'd look so handsome on my arm."

"No. Definitely no," he protested. "Take Dorian. He's our very own social butterfly."

For some reason she recalled a summer spent sticking flowers into his beard. It had nothing to do with the circumstances at hand, not even remotely close, but Lavellan giggled nevertheless. He'd been pliant to her wishes then, taking time off to drive both of them away from the city and into the quiet of the forest. She used to have that power over him, once. Back when he believed she could fix him and she hoped it'd be enough.

Now they were in a comfortable place and she cherished his company.

However, it didn't mean that she didn't groan her despair at his refusal. He waved her away like an annoying fly, wiping his hands on his apron as he disappeared into the back store. He owned a small but fairly successful woodwork shop. Some of his commissions went for a ridiculous amount; so much that she feared touching them.

She loved his place. It was quiet, peaceful, and she'd favored it over the university library back in her student days.

"Ass," Lavellan grumbled, annoyance and fondness clashing together.

"Are we giving each other pet names? Oh, do me next."

The door bell chimed to announce Dorian's arrival. His glasses were already hanging from the low collar of his shirt. He made his characteristic face, a grimace and a grin somehow rolled into an expression that was so perfectly _Dorian_.

"Are you ready?" he asked her. Then, throwing his voice, called, "Blackwall, you're killing me with this stench!"

"Keel over and die already then," came the hoarse reply accompanied by a chuckle.

"Lovely as ever, I see," Dorian commented, smiling. "Let's go. I don't have all day to buy you this dress."

Lavellan laced her arm with his as they headed out. "Help me choose," she insisted. "I'm not letting you pay."

"So you can starve for a month? A good diet once in a while never hurt anyone, but you've made it your way of life."

They were a short way from downtown so for once he wasn't complaining about walking. She let him guide her, eyes trailing over all the stores he overlooked. Some of them she actually liked.

"That reminds me - you're my date, right?" Lavellan asked, her fingers digging into his forearm.

Dorian tilted his head away from hers. "Yes, sure."

She stopped. "No. _No_. I know that 'sure'. What are you not telling me?"

"I might have asked Bull, but we'll still go all together, snowflake."

"Don't snowflake me!" She groaned yet again. "We had a deal that we would forever be each other's pity dates. Or does that mean nothing to you?"

Dorian brought his free hand to his heart, feigning sorrow. "It really doesn't."

Before she could protest further, he pulled her into a store. She gravitated toward everything black, but he anchored her, bringing royal blues and emerald greens to her attention. Lavellan gave up after a while on the price tags; Dorian clearly didn't care.

He twisted tendrils of her ashen hair, looking pensively in the mirror from which her perplexed reflection stared back at them. She wasn't totally clueless as far as fashion went. Definitely not a girl who wore sweatpants and hoodies to every social event and prided herself in being oh so natural. It's just that rent was a particularly demanding master and so shopping sprees were things of the past.

"Definitely blue," Dorian decided. "Try this one."

He all but pushed her into the fitting room, pulling the curtain close and retrieving his phone presumably to text Bull. The dress was a beautiful thing of dark blue and golden embroidery, modest yet enticing. It hugged her too-slim waist and ended just above her knees. She even loved how long the sleeves were and how her back was slightly bared.

"I like it," Lavellan called.

"Obviously."

Her phone rang then, forcing her to rummage through her own pile of clothes. Her heart sped up when she saw the name on display, flashing insistently.

"Josephine?" Lavellan gasped. "I almost missed you, I'm sorry."

"No harm done," Josie laughed.

Josephine Montilyet was an angel, for lack of a better term. She was a talent agent and altogether influential person with ties going as far as Orlais. That she'd taken her under her wing was a miracle. Lavellan was nothing, a Dalish relic who'd shined in the papers years ago, and yet, somehow, the two had ended up together.

"I have exciting news," Josie continued. "Surely you know Zither?"

"Who doesn't?"

"He's on tour and will be passing through here very soon. They're expanding his act, making it more grandiose, and as such the need for a violinist arose."

Her breath caught. She felt giddy like a child. "You didn't..."

"I did!" the other woman exclaimed. Then, bringing down her enthusiasm a notch, "I talked you up and they want to meet you. Tomorrow, if you're free."

"I... yes, of course!" Lavellan stumbled over her words, her tongue suddenly too heavy.

"Perfect. I'll send you the details. Oh, and a word of advice?"

"Yes?"

A deep sigh on the other end. "Wear a low cut shirt. He's kind of a dog."

Well, good thing Varric's party was tonight then.

*   *   *

She felt positively stupid. A real third wheel, hidden from view by Bull's massive frame as he and Dorian approached Varric's residence. And then again residence was too modest a word. The man's townhouse was an attraction in its own right. It occurred to her for the first time that she knew next to nothing about him. No way a teacher - Dorian would slap her for not using the proper term, namely professor - could afford all of this.

Lavellan pulled her coat tightly around her, lowering her head so the first snow didn't ruin her makeup.

"I almost feel bad about my plan," Dorian said.

"And what plan would that be?" Bull asked, pushing ahead.

"Getting gloriously drunk." He shrugged and brushed an errand strand of hair out of his face. "I'll still do it of course, but what will all those people think of me?"

"It's all right," Lavellan chimed in, skipping forward to take her place at his side. "I'll down a few shots with you right before leaving. Intoxication without all the judgment. Best of both worlds."

Dorian laughed, loudly, throwing his head back and then tickling her nose with his index finger. "You'll go far in life."

"Pretty sure I'm already on top."

Varric's voice greeted them like a roar the moment they walked in. He pushed through the mass of bodies, inching his way to them. Lavellan smiled, relinquishing her coat to an attendant. Dorian had chosen well; she blended in effortlessly. Her pale hair tumbled in soft waves around her face and down her back, a sharp contrast to the dark blue of the dress. Even her vallaslin somehow fit into the image he'd created.

Varric and Dorian embraced, one red in the face from drink, the other subject to glee. She bowed her head and stood in the sidelines with Bull.

"That's the art critic everyone hates," the Qunari pointed out.

She followed his gaze to an impetuous little man harassing a server. "And you know this how? Never took you for an art aficionado."

His laughter was like a rumble, deep in his chest and low, but pleasant all the same. "At least I have interests, boss."

"If betting on how many girls you can bring home in a week is an interest then you certainly do."

He winked at her. "Only girls? You're making me sound modest."

Playfully, Lavellan punched him in the shoulder. Before she could think of a clever retort, Varric was demanding her attention. He pulled her into a hug as well; her knees wobbled somewhat from having to bend down, but eventually she was free.

"You're working alongside Solas now and yet I barely even get to see you!" he chided her. "Why, is a humble dwarf no longer of interest to you?"

"We went out not long ago," she reminded him, smiling indulgently. "Besides, I meet up with him when you're already gone."

As if on cue, Dorian bounced in. "Varric, you're a rarity. A legend, one might say. To see you in the halls of the university should be on the same level as spotting a shooting star. I want to say it's because you're working too much, but we both know you simply have an uncharacteristic talent for getting the fuck out of there."

Varric inclined his head as his feet performed a funny little dance, a tipsy curtsy. "I learned from the best, Master Pavus." Regaining his composure, he motioned for them to follow him. "Come on, you're just in time for my announcement."

He led them away from the entrance, past the cold air which the open door couldn't stop. For that, Lavellan was infinitely grateful. She'd already started rubbing her arms, causing a wrinkle or two to mar her dress. Varric stole a glass of champagne and a butter knife from a passing server. Just when he was about to declare a toast, the doors opened yet again.

The winter chill brought in two new guests, both of whom she recognized. Solas walked in, Cassandra at his side. She'd never entertained the notion, could have never come up with the idea that the two could be an item. It just seemed too odd. But no hint of affection passed between them, just quiet respect. He helped her out of her coat and she wordlessly thanked him.

"Cassandra!" Varric yelled next to her, laughing yet again. "Oh, Cassandra!"

Lavellan couldn't so much hear as see the woman's lips form an annoyed 'ugh' as she vanished into the crowd, escaping to the other end of the room. Solas didn't follow. Instead, he made a beeline for the bar.

Tired of waiting, Varric cleared his throat a few times, commanding attention. Eventually all eyes were on him. He said nothing for a while, waiting for someone to fetch him...a book?

"Dramatic pause," he explained. "Got you curious, didn't I? You all know I don't need a reason to throw a party, but tonight is special. I present to you my newest work, my magnum opus you might say."

Dorian snickered. "Hardly."

Varric waved at him to go away. "Hush, you Tevinter. This, ladies and gents, is _Blood and Lyrium or Duty Over Love_. Inspired by current events, nonetheless."

The cover depicted a woman in ancient Templar armor trying to resist the advances of an elf, but clearly enjoying the attention. Behind them, the city perished to flames. All very dramatic indeed.

Her mouth was suddenly dry. Dorian and Bull were busy trying to come up with obscene things to say in polite company. Varric had finished his champagne and now made it his personal quest to catch Cassandra. So far, she'd eluded him at every turn. It was interesting to watch, but not for long.

Eventually, tired of having to tiptoe left and right to allow people to pass, Lavellan retreated to the bar. Solas hadn't spotted her yet. She supposed he looked handsome enough in his grey suit and burgundy turtleneck. His long fingers were curled over the stem of a glass of wine, knuckles pale but relaxed. That's what she enjoyed most about him: the way his hands cut through air, delicate and precise in their movements, almost musical, how they traveled over the keyboard, how animated they became when she piqued his interest.

The quiet contemplation didn't last long. He turned around for a refill and saw her standing a few careful paces away. At first he froze, but then his features adopted that mask of neutral respect she'd come to expect from him.

"Lethallan," he said. "I did not expect to see you here."

She shrugged, taking it as an invitation to approach him. "I'm friends with Varric. Are you upset I didn't warn you?" _Would you have come had you known_ , was the real question.

"Not at all." He gestured toward Varric who'd finally caught up with Cassandra. "I have to agree, for once, with Master Tethras."

Lavellan arched an eyebrow. "On what?"

Solas raised his glass. Once away, she could still see the remains of the drink on his lips. He leaned against the bar.

"Did you not notice? He clearly used the likenesses of our Minister and Knight Commander and who could blame him? In different circumstances the two would be seen as quite the romantic pair. Forbidden love and all of that."

She vaguely recalled seeing the two in papers, either sneering at each other or aiming to put as much distance between them as possible. They'd been warring a power struggle for years now, undermining one another at every turn.

When she looked his way again, Solas averted his gaze perhaps a bit too quickly. She wondered if he wanted to escape but remained as not to insult her. The thought made her cringe. Lavellan was going to leave him to his peace when he spoke again.

"And with their offices being so close, one might theorize that they visit each other more often than what is proper."

Suddenly, he was smiling, wickedly, aggressively, something so unlike him that she felt warmth rush to her cheeks. Perhaps it was the drink that'd loosened his tongue, or the overall joyful ambiance, but he was completely at ease around her.

She couldn't stifle a laugh and he retrieved a glass for her from a nearby tray. Her fingers wrapped around its base with too much strength.

Oh Creators.

Did she have two alcoholics to deal with now?

Dorian and now her usually-distant hahren?

There was no other explanation for him smiling so broadly, looking at her rather than through, fetching her a drink on his own volition. And it was getting to her head too because she was giggling at his suggestion, one hand pressed over her lips. She was as bad as him.

Dorian would love this.

"You don't think they're seriously...no. They hate each other."

Solas made a dismissive gesture into the air. "Perhaps I'm mistaken."

She opened her mouth to say something else, challenge his views so he would be forced to talk in that languid voice of his some more, but Dorian cut it all short. He pushed past people, Varric at his back, before digging his heels in place between them.

"Solas," he said loudly. "Varric tells me you're good at cards. Indulge me."

For a moment, Lavellan thought he would walk away. From what she'd gathered, there was no love lost between the two. Dorian had never masked his distaste toward the man. Yet, Solas made a curious sound in his throat and pulled at his sleeves.

"Ah, this will be interesting," he said evenly. "Lead the way."

Dorian waggled his eyebrows at her. Lavellan rolled her eyes.

Decidedly, she wasn't drunk enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all lovely. And yes, I am referring to Orsino and Meredith here. Sorry not sorry but these two had too much sexual tension between them in DA2. At least, as far as I'm concerned lol


	5. Chapter 5

Lavellan hadn't actually been invited, but she tagged along anyway.

Varric cleared a table for them, making sure to however keep a few bottles at hand. He positioned himself at the head like some sort of lord, chin resting over his weaved fingers, as Dorian shuffled cards. She sat down too, sipping on her drink, but shook her head when her friend offered to include her.

"I'm not playing with you," Lavellan said.

"And why not?" Dorian inquired, though it was obvious he didn't really care, having already distributed the cards and hiding his own in his lap.

"Because you're a sore loser and I'm a bad winner."

"Fair point," he conceded. "And you Solas, what do you consider yourself?"

The elf sat across Dorian, his posture rigid as he slowly slid the cards toward himself. "Unassuming, I would hope."

Dorian rolled his eyes. " _That's_ not unassuming."

"The game has not yet started."

Lavellan leaned closer to him. He had a decent enough hand, she supposed. If others were just slightly unluckier, he could easily come up on top. About the rest of the party, she couldn't be certain. Solas' expression gave very little away, but that was expected - especially if this was a game where all cheated. Wicked Grace often began with good intentions and ended with everyone bluffing.

For all his vanity, Dorian was a splendid player so he was set. She hadn't seen Solas lie yet. As for Bull, there was no telling. He joined them at the last minute, the table shaking as he crashed his massive fists against it in excitement.

"Let's do this," he roared, emptying his flute of champagne in one gulp. "Are we playing like sissies or are there actual stakes?"

"Would that be wise?" Solas questioned, frowning.

"Who said anything about wise?" Bull retorted.

"I'm in," Varric said and slammed a wad of bills onto the table.

Somehow, his word was law.

Solas hesitated but eventually retrieved his wallet. She watched with amusement as he browsed through endless cards before pulling out whatever cash he had on him. He'd readjusted his composure, not as carefree now as he'd been with her back at the bar. It was interesting to see how quickly he switched between personas. Dorian snickered and threw in a few bills as well.

They all stared at her when she added something of her own.

"And who are you betting on?" Dorian asked, pressing his cards to his thighs in suspicion, shielding them from her possibly betraying eyes.

"I don't know yet. I'll decide toward the end."

He chuckled. "That's not how it works."

"Just play," Lavellan said, smiling indulgently.

At some point, Cassandra wandered toward the table. She kept a safe distance for now, her eyes briefly locking with Lavellan's as she rolled them ever so often. They were all bickering about the betting pool. Varric sought to increase it in his drunken mirth, Bull only encouraged him while Dorian argued that he was an idiot. All the while, Solas rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, contributing absolutely nothing to the conversation but an occasional sigh.

"I'm just saying, you'll be broke by the end of the night," Dorian pointed out.

"Well boo-freaking-hoo for me then."

"Very eloquent," Solas muttered. "Shall we start?"

"Eager, aren't you, Chuckles?"

Cassandra trudged to her side, ignoring Varric's attempt to entice her into joining. She proved a striking figure in black, her dark eyes lined, her cheekbones finely sculpted.

"Hello again," she said, her voice somewhat wavering, apparently utterly out of her element. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all. Come sit next to me."

The tall woman hesitated for just a second before settling down with a grateful sigh. Lavellan chanced a glance underneath the table, discovering Cassandra had pried the heels of her feet out of her fashionable shoes.

She politely shook her head when a server shuffled over with a fresh tray of drinks. The one Solas had fetched her still sat in her lap, the liquor warming up between her palms as it hid from view.

"I didn't know you two were..." Lavellan trailed off, her meaning clear.

Cassandra's eyes widened as she mouthed a wordless protest. Then, her tone a bit too indignant, "Maker no! I mean, I suppose we are...friends."

"You seem unsure about that."

"He doesn't hate my company and I can stomach him. Most times."

Lavellan laughed behind her hand. "That's the best anyone can ask for."

Cassandra leaned in a bit closer, retrieving her elbows from the table as Bull claimed the free space for a pitcher. "Are you all right? Working with him, I mean."

"I'm invested in the game, not deaf," Solas called.

He wasn't even looking, she noticed. His eyes were trained on his hand, his thumb rubbing impatient circles over a card's back. There was nothing to shed light on his intentions. His mannerisms suggested he was deep in thought, perhaps somewhat anxious, but that could very well be a bluffing strategy. It was his turn to draw.

So far no one had been lucky.

Solas' jaw was set tight as he pulled out a simple serpent; she caught its reflection in his glass. The draw pile wasn't being kind to him.

Dorian was being particularly cocky. Drink had left his cheeks flushed. He was comfortably slumped in his chair, throwing knowing glances her way.

"So Solas," he began, "I hear elves like dancing naked in the moonlight."

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you over your outfit," Solas retaliated, not missing a beat. Not a nerve in his face twitched and he emptied the contents of his glass, setting it down with a _thud_.

Dorian licked his fingers and reached for the pile. "I do so wish to see you make flowers bloom with your song at least once in my life."

Solas made a sound in his throat and went quiet.

"You'd make anyone's flower bloom," Bull interjected, gently elbowing Dorian in the ribs. "Ha! Suck it! All of you!"

He slammed the Angel of Death card against the table. Cassandra found herself holding on to the pitcher of whatever he had ordered as the contents nearly sloshed over. Everyone was silent now, eying one another with apprehension.

When Lavellan left the table, nobody batted an eye. She tiptoed away, light on her feet as her Keeper had taught her. Once out of Dorian's field of view, she took out her phone. Her head was already spinning the tiniest bit so at this point her thought process was anything but coherent. What did it matter if she texted him?

She only hoped her reluctant hahren hadn't turned his own phone off.

_-10:30 pm_

_His hand is good but not great. Say something now. He'll flip._

 

Immediately, the sound of an incoming message was heard across the table. Solas narrowed his eyes as he fished for his phone in the inner pocket of his jacket. Once he had it, his face betrayed no emotion. He didn't even spare her a look.

But she did get a reply.

_-Solas, 10:31 pm_

_Thank you_

Curt, in a way.

At least it was better than silence.

Lavellan crossed her arms and smirked, impatient to see how it would all play out.

"How long are we going to draw this out?" Varric demanded. "Just reveal your cards already."

"Oh, I don't know," Dorian said. "I enjoy the anticipation. Besides, I do believe Professor Solas over there is quite preoccupied with his phone."

It was true. He was still holding on to it. Clearing his throat, he announced, "My apologies. It was a work-related matter, but it's solved now."

Lavellan giggled. Work-related matter indeed.

Dorian smiled, though it looked more like a grimace, a provocation. "Good."

"Oh for pity's sake," Bull growled and uncovered his hand.

It was nothing impressive, he only had a pair. On the same breath, he grabbed Dorian's wrist and forced him to lay his own down as well. The cards tumbled out of his grasp, revealing the three of a kind she'd spotted earlier.

Varric groaned and waved his money goodbye. "I will miss you," he said, wiping away a fictitious tear.

Dorian's smile was so wide at this point it looked like he was baring his teeth. He laughed that particular laugh of his, ending with a small snort, as he leaned on his elbows, staring Solas down from where he sat.

Solas cleared his throat.

"Don't be shy," Dorian pushed. "I was nice, I didn't cheat, but lady luck simply favors me over others. What can I say, it's a gift."

"Naturally," Solas agreed.

He was employing the same tone as when he congratulated her on figuring something out, authoritative and detached. Perhaps the very one he resorted to when lecturing. Lavellan felt compelled to go to him, subtly, and look over his shoulder to see what he was hiding. But he didn't stretch out the suspense.

Quite simply, he unveiled a perfect four of a kind. The unassuming serpent had served him well.

Varric exploded into laughter. Bull draped one strong arm over Dorian's shoulders, forcing him to remain sited, while his free hand shuffled the money toward Solas.

"Seems like lady luck ignored you today," her hahren remarked, his lips curving slightly.

"A bit too late for trash talk, don't you think?" Dorian hissed.

"Ah, but do you still wish to see me dancing naked in the moonlight? Is it too late for that as well?"

"Lose a decade or two and we'll talk."

Cassandra groaned. "You're all children," she declared before stalking off.

"Regardless, I'll pass," Solas quipped, ignoring his companion's comment.

He took his time. He actually _took his sweet time_ tucking the bills into his wallet. Lavellan couldn't not laugh. She fell into the vacant chair next to him, crossing her legs but saying nothing; it was his turn to speak. He gave her a small smile, almost soft. A faint blush had spread along his cheekbones, nearly reaching his ears. And when he spoke, she could see how wine had stained the inside of his lower lip.

Lavellan wondered if hers was red as well.

"Thank you for your help," Solas said.

His voice was quiet, but Dorian picked up on it anyway. He disentangled himself from Bull and glared daggers at her, indignant but only in a playful way.

"So you helped him cheat? I should have guessed. The elf always sides with the elf."

Lavellan shrugged, rolled both her shoulders, deliberately bidding time to aggravate him. "That and he pays me."

"Yes, I'm sure that twenty you invested will make you rich. Watch out world, here comes a big spender."

"What did I say - sore loser."

Dorian muttered something under his breath and made to leave. Once upright, he swayed, holding on to Bull for balance. The two retreated to Varric's end of the table.

Solas obviously had had the time to savor his victory. The smile was already off his face, lips pulled into a taut line.

It occurred to her that he was _petty_. Somewhat cold, certainly distant, scholarly and old-mannered - but also _petty_. It brought his character into a new light. She'd never noticed before how he had dimples when he smiled, as he so rarely did. How the tension fled from his frame when he was on top. How he enjoyed arguments which would end in his favor, jumping in knowing he would win. It was oddly endearing, a new insight. And also perhaps a face he didn't want others to see.

"I owe you your share of the winnings, I believe."

The comment was unexpected. Lavellan startled slightly, slowly turning her face to him. "Double of my initial bet then?" she teased.

"How about everything?" Solas offered. "That would irritate Master Pavus further, yes?"

"I suppose, but - "

He'd never intended on keeping anything, she realized. Stuffing the bills into his wallet was yet another display. He didn't care for winning, at least not exactly. Solas left the money on the table and bowed his head to her. What was it with him and that particular gesture? Lavellan numbly offered a nod of her own in return.

"Are they keeping your glass full?" Cassandra's voice inquired. She had returned and, from her posture, was still in pain from her shoes.

"Quite," Solas responded, rising to meet her. "Goodnight, lethallan."

"Goodnight," she mumbled back, watching as the two vanished into the crowd, Solas guiding Cassandra by the elbow, his touch feather-light.

Lavellan didn't know why she had expected him to keep her company.

Varric called for her to rejoin them. She would, but only in a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little interlude chapter of sorts. I wanted to get something out before the new year :P


End file.
